


the devil is well aware he is adored

by ephemeralgrime



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Biting, Blushing, Bruises, Light Dom/sub, Love Bites, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26478307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralgrime/pseuds/ephemeralgrime
Summary: The devil has the cruelest and kindest hands, Omega thinks.
Relationships: Papa Emeritus III/Omega | Quintessence Ghoul
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	the devil is well aware he is adored

**Author's Note:**

> a quick warning - this fic contains some (entirely metaphorical) language about knives and blades. feel free to pass if you think that might distress you! 
> 
> title from bloodmoney by poppy.
> 
> thank you [backwards_blackbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Backwards_Blackbird/pseuds/Backwards_Blackbird) for the beta! <3  
> 

“The bed, please, Omega.”

Papa's voice before him is as sharp and precise as a knife. Part of Omega wants to test its point, but he does what he’s told. He lowers himself down carefully on the edge of Papa's bed, minding the sore backs of his legs. Hands placed carefully next to his thighs, fingertips curled around the mattress edge. Waiting.

Papa kneels before him, his paint crisp and perfect, regal even on his knees. The only things out of place are his gloves - removed for the occasion, and folded neatly nearby. Omega tracks the movement of his curiously bare hands, lurid in their nakedness, as they nudge his legs open further, splaying the soft skin of his thighs like the pages of a book.

He resists the urge to close them.

“Omega,  _ Omega _ . You don't have to be so tense,” Papa says, chiding. A bare finger brushes against the inside of Omega's thigh, just a whisper of a tickle. “You don't think your Papa will make you feel good?”

Omega feels his heart beat in his throat. There's a right answer to this, but he's not sure what it is. His squirming indecision is apparently answer enough for Papa to continue, because he leans in close then, the curve of his smile wicked. Omega holds his breath.

Papa's open mouth meets the inside of his thigh, gentle and warm, just lips against the soft skin there. He lets his bottom lip drag open, revealing tongue and teeth and the pink wetness of his mouth. Mismatched eyes hold Omega’s gaze as he darts his tongue out. 

Omega inhales sharply. Papa laughs. 

He gives him a real kiss then, his tongue swirling at the skin of his inner thigh, so very close where Omega would like him to use it. His eyes are closed in something that looks like reverence, whether for Omega or for the sake of the act, he doesn't know.

Omega is hard. Omega has been hard for a very long time. 

He can see the rise and fall of his own chest as he looks down at where Papa kneels before him - a landscape of skin flushed dark and splotchy. Mottled with his own desire as clearly as if it was written there on his skin, a brand for everyone to see.

“You have no secrets from me, Omega,” Papa had said on another night like this, kissing and biting down his neck. The flush had spread over his chest and down his stomach like spilled wine.  _ “ _ Just look at you blush for me,” he'd whispered into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, hand trailing low. Omega had never felt so _ raw_, so obvious, coming into his hand. He barely needed to touch him. 

Now, Papa smiles almost sweetly at him from the floor, nestled in the crook of his legs. His bare thumb reaches out and just barely,  _ barely  _ brushes the head of Omega's cock, sliding around the precome beaded there, fingertips ghosting over the length of him. Omega doesn’t even have enough time to register the sensation before Papa is closing his mouth over the softest spot on Omega’s inner thigh and _sucking. _

Omega’s hands fist in the sheets, his whole body going tight and rigid. Fuck, it _ hurts  _ \- but the sharp, intimate pain of it zips straight to his cock. He can feel the huff of Papa’s warm breath on his thigh as he  _ bites  _ him now, the pad of his thumb slipping over the tip of his cock.

“Papa _, please,_ ” he gasps, squirming, not sure if he’s trying to get away from his mouth or get closer. He feels like a harp string, pulled impossibly taut, vibrating all the way down to his toes from a single struck note. 

Papa laughs, sharp and bright, rubbing his face against Omega's thigh like a cat. In the brief respite, Omega watches a faint smear of white paint appear in his wake. He wonders where else he'll get paint tonight, if maybe Papa could mark him so thoroughly that none of his skin would remain.

“Please what, Omega?” Papa asks innocently, pressing a chaste little kiss to the bruise he just left. 

Omega tries to say something, but the words are stuck somewhere in the pulse at his throat, and so Papa leans over to the soft gray skin of his other thigh and bites, sucks, bites _ again._ One of his fingers pinches the thin skin of bruise on Omega’s left leg, fresh and throbbing and wet. Omega squeezes his eyes shut, drawing in on himself protectively even as his cock throbs, but Papa presses his hands down, forcing his legs open. 

“ _Why- _ ” Omega pants, then tries again. It's too much with his face uncovered. His legs are trembling, his toes curling into the carpet. He closes his eyes, feeling his face ache with how much it burns. “Why do I have to say it?” 

Papa lifts his mouth, smiling through smeared paint. He folds his hands over Omega’s knee and rests his chin there, feigning innocence.

“Because I think you like it very much, and because you give in so easily,” he says, and now the knife is back, paring Omega down to his core, so quickly and deftly he doesn’t feel the sting. “And you look so lovely when you beg. Please what, now?”

The bird's wing brush of a single bare finger, tracing a teasing line up his thigh again. Maddening. Need coils hot and tight in Omega. The impropriety of asking, the shame of wanting twined in his gut, as sharp and as certain as an arrow flying true. He is struck, as he always is, with how instantly, how easily Papa understands him. 

Because Omega knows he’s right. He _knows -_ right where he aches between his legs - that it doesn’t hurt before it gets better, because the hurting _is_ the good part. Because he would hurt for Papa every day if he wanted him to and ask for more. He would beg for it - a bared neck, an animal showing its soft belly, a willing sacrifice, placing the knife against his own throat. 

An offer and an offering, his devotion written on his skin.

Papa's thumb brushes over one of his bruises then, bearing down with increasing pressure. “Let go, Omega,” he says, gently this time, and the softness in his voice against the edge of pain is all it takes. Omega folds, easily, desperately, like he always does. 

He begs.

“ _Please_ ,” Omega says, and it comes out in a heave like an upturned pitcher, the words tumbling out of him, leaving rushing heat in their wake. “Please use your mouth on me, Papa.” 

And there it is. Papa's smile is sharp and pleased as he settles closer between Omega's legs. “Anything for you, Omega,” he says, wet breath ghosting on his cock, and Omega thinks he could almost come from that.

_ I'm his favorite, _ Omega thinks suddenly, dizzyingly, a thought somehow more obscene than Papa swallowing tight and wet around him. A bare hand circles around him, tight and slick and merciless. After so long untouched, it's all he can do not to tip over the edge, but he clings to it desperately, waiting for permission. 

When he finally gets it - when he's been gasping and arching under Papa's mouth, begging for it - Papa slides off him wetly, and says in a voice that sounds thick and bruised,  _ “In my mouth, Omega. Now.” _ Omega does what he’s told, his final submission in one last shuddering release.

When Papa groans his approval around him as he swallows, it feels something like benediction, and when his hand fumbles for Omega’s on the bed and squeezes, their naked hands could be laced together in prayer.

“Oh, my Omega,” Papa says with unbearable fondness, kissing his stomach, sounding sex-drunk and blurry, and Omega thinks his heart could burst.

The devil has the cruelest and kindest hands, Omega thinks, cupping the crown of Papa's head in reverence. He would take them in equal measure every day if he could. 

**Author's Note:**

> comments always loved <3 find me on tumblr @ ratballet!


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